


The Stranger

by MoonRiver



Series: Adopted [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Sex, Bottom Mycroft, Dark, Drunk Sex, M/M, Multi, Roughness, Sexual Content, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Greg
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-15
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-26 16:07:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/967930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoonRiver/pseuds/MoonRiver
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A wicked grin spread across the stranger’s face, and he kept his eyes on Sherlock as he leaned down to bite Mycroft’s neck.</p><p>Sherlock shuddered.</p><p>“Is that him?” The stranger asked.</p><p>Mycroft nodded. He looked like he may be sick.</p><p>“He’s gorgeous.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Sherlock was twenty and Mycroft was twenty-seven they lived together in their own flat for the first time

 

Well, it was Mycroft’s flat.

 

And _flat_ was an exaggeration.

 

Mycroft was still working his way up through the very bottom of the British government ladder, and his salary did not include the private cars and privately reserved restaurants that it one day would. Sherlock was sure his adopted brother made enough to get by, but when he turned the key and entered Mycroft’s flat for the first time that Christmas he had doubts.

 

The living area was small, only about as big as the average dormitory at his university. The kitchen was even smaller, with outdated appliances and finishes. An old television sat in the center of the room and behind it, a tattered couch obviously donated by a friend or colleague. Mycroft did have a decent size balcony, though, complete with a view of the Thames. Sherlock was tempted to go take a look but it was bloody freezing outside, and the flat seemed warmer than a place of residence should be.

 

Shrugging off his rucksack and coat, he flipped on a light and began snooping around. Two pairs of shoes lay beside the door; he frowned. One was clearly his brother’s while the other was unfamiliar and quite posh. They were fancy loafers that clearly belonged to another type of government official, and he imagined the suit jacket draped over the couch- a bit too small for Mycroft- belonged to the same person.

 

The same _man_ , he noted.

 

As he stepped further into the flat the smell of cigarette smoke mixed poorly with a hint of alcohol and take-away. The flat only had one bedroom so he supposed he was stuck on the ugly green sofa, but he wanted to at least get a word of explanation out of Mycroft before drifting off to sleep.

 

He crept down the short hallway to the main bedroom, and when he noticed the light on beneath the door he didn’t bother knocking.

 

Mistake.

 

Mistakemistakemistakemistakemistake!

 

His eyes went wide as they fell on the sight before him: his brother, trapped beneath a man he didn’t know.

 

Naked.

 

The man on top of him was at least five years older than Mycroft, sporting a thin black hair and a muscular frame. Their clothes were thrown about the room and a sheet haphazardly covered their sweaty bodies.

 

By the sound of it, they were both racing toward orgasm.

 

“Oh god!” Mycroft suddenly choked.

 

Sherlock bit his lip and told himself to run away, but his feet wouldn’t move.

 

His heart rate picked up, his hands were sweaty and _god I should NOT be turned on right now!_

“Sherlock!” Mycroft gasped.

 

Sherlock nearly fell over in shock, and the man on top of his brother stopped.

 

“What did you just call me?” He demanded.

 

“No!” Mycroft hissed and nodded in his direction. “Sherlock.”

 

His brother’s eyes fluttered closed, and Sherlock froze when the man turned around to look at him. The room felt too warm and his body too hot as he was examined by the naked stranger. A wicked grin spread across the stranger’s face, and he kept his eyes on Sherlock as he leaned down to bite Mycroft’s neck.

 

Sherlock shuddered.

 

“Is that him?” The stranger asked.

 

Mycroft nodded. He looked like he may be sick.

 

“He’s gorgeous.”

 

The stranger’s eyes stayed glued to his as he rocked his brother deeper into the mattress. Mycroft’s eyes remained glued shut, as though he were mentally trying to put himself out of the situation, but his sharp breaths made it obvious his tricks weren’t working.

 

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. Every inch of his body was awake and interested. Memories flashed before his mind of Mycroft, leaning over him and breathing hot air into his face. He could only think of how good it must feel to be the stranger right now, buried deep inside of Mycroft, breaking him down and forcing him to surrender to…

 

_What the fuck is wrong with me?!_

 

“Oh!” Mycroft groaned.

 

Sherlock at least had the decency to let his eyes fall to the floor as Mycroft came, and moments later the other man let out a series of grunts. He spasmed on top of Mycroft for a moment before collapsing onto his chest. Their lips brushed together in a hot, wet, kiss that seemed void of any true passion.

 

He couldn’t help but to wonder if the two men even knew each other.

 

“That was good,” the man said, offering Mycroft one final kiss before scrambling to his feet.

 

Looking away, Sherlock desperately avoided the urge to study the stranger’s body. He knew the man was smirking at him, bemused, and Mycroft still hadn’t opened his eyes.

 

“Is there something you wanted, Sherlock?” Mycroft shot.

 

“I think there was _someone_ he wanted,” the stranger teased.

 

“Not now,” Mycroft moaned, throwing his arms over his head.

It was odd to see his brother act so childish, but he hardly had time to think of it before the strange appeared in front of him. They stood only inches apart, and from here Sherlock could smell the scent of sex coming from Mycroft. The smell was so strong he nearly choked, and he considered fleeing the room when a hand reached out to him.

 

“I’m Greg,” the man greeted.

 

They shook hands.

 

Shaking hands with a naked man was just _weird_.

 

Especially knowing where his hand had just been.

 

“Do you two know each other?” Sherlock asked.

 

His voice sounded weak and small in the room, and it hit him then how much younger he was compared to these two.

 

“Sure,” Greg said with a grin, “we talked for what, a whole two hours at the pub before you brought me home?”

 

Mycroft threw his head back into the pillow and pulled the soiled duvet further over his bare shoulders.

 

Sherlock turned back to Greg. He wished his heart wasn’t pounding to so fast, and he wished his trousers weren’t suddenly so tight.

 

“Did you two really fuck each other?” Greg asked.

 

He nodded. His voice was broken as he pointed out:

 

“We’re adopted.”

 

“So you’re adopted brother said, about a dozen times,” Greg replied. His eyes twinkled again, and the room turned stiff and silent when he offered: “Would you like to join us, Sherlock?”

 

_Yes!_

 

Pupils blown wide, his head shifted to Mycroft, who gazed at him from the bed.

 

“I don’t think-“ Mycroft attempted.

 

“Come on, Mycroft,” Greg said, “let him experiment. He wants to.”

 

Before he could reply Greg’s lips closed in on his, and Sherlock was trapped in a surprisingly soft kiss. Strong, warm, hands grasped his arms, and Sherlock gasped as Greg’s tongue slipped down his throat. From the corner of his eye he could see Mycroft looking on, but instead of appearing envious he was curious. His eyes roamed his younger _adopted_ brother, and Sherlock could see his pupils widen as Greg’s hands slipped beneath his jumper. He shuddered as the jumper was tugged off, revealing his bare chest. His eyes danced with excitement between the two men in the room. Both Mycroft and his lover were well-built. His brother hadn’t quite reached the obesity stage that would follow his first few years of supervisory roles in the government. Sherlock’s fingers traced the visible six-pack Greg proudly wore, and a sloppy grin crossed the man’s face.

 

“Do you sleep around a lot?” Greg asked.

 

Sherlock stared at him, too afraid to admit the truth.

 

“He’s twenty,” Mycroft smirked. “What do you think?”

 

“I dunno,” Greg sang, running his hand up and down Sherlock’s bare arm. The gentle brush of skin against skin made him shiver. “I didn’t do too bad for myself when I was twenty, and he’s not bad looking.”

 

Greg kissed him again, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

 

_What the fuck am I doing?!_

 

Mycroft’s hand reached up to brush against his chest. The bed shifted as Mycroft sat up, and suddenly one set of lips were trailing over his back while one attacked his neck. He drew in a deep breath as he dared to raise his eyes to meet his brother’s.

 

“Hi,” he whispered.

 

Their foreheads smacked together as Greg’s fingers snaked beneath the waistband of his trousers. He gasped as the fingers grasped his hips and winced as Greg held him like that tightly.

 

“How have you been?” Mycroft asked.

 

His belt buckle snapped off, and Sherlock shuddered:

 

“Okay.”

 

They stopped talking as his trousers were tugged off, and Mycroft quietly pulled him down on top of him. He brushed his unruly hair out of the way as his lips found Mycroft’s and his tongue dipped down into his throat. He bit back a moan as warm hands soothed his cold back.

 

“How’s school?” Mycroft whispered into his ear.

 

His voice was, dare he thought, sexy. He considered for a moment just how much the men on either side of him had to drink that night. They both reeked of whiskey, of lager, of gin and tonic and so many things he wanted to lecture Mycroft for. But he couldn’t think of it as hands stretched down to the bare hips hidden by his pants, and god he didn’t even know who they belonged to.

 

“Got kicked out,” Sherlock breathed against Mycroft’s face.

 

He tried not to moan, tried not to make a sound as his pants were pulled off his hips. He shuddered, despite the fact that room was far too warm.

 

“Mmm,” Mycroft moaned. They kissed again, wet and uncoordinated. He shifted as the hands lifted his hips, setting him perfectly angled to Mycroft’s cock. “You’ll work, then?”

Lips pressed against his lower back, and as his jumper was pulled off those lips caressed his spine. When they reached his neck a tongue lapped out, licking down his back.

 

“No-“ it came out more of a gasp, and he could feel Greg smirk against his back. He pressed his forehead hard against Mycroft’s face and nearly whimpered when lips then lapped around his ear. “Don’t think anyone will hire me.”

 

He was suddenly pushed forward and a grunt escaped him. He was nose-to-nose with his adopted sibling.

 

“Didn’t you just come?” He whispered.

 

Sherlock could feel it, sticky against his chest.

 

“Twice now,” Greg growled into his ear. Mycroft’s eyes fluttered closed as his fingertips graced his nipples, and Sherlock’s heart skipped beats as he studied the reactions he was getting. Reaching down, he teased Mycroft’s cock; he wasn’t hard yet, but nevertheless he threw his head violently against the pillows in response. “We’ve been at this for hours.”

 

That thought alone made him shudder again- not because of being impressed but because of the idea that he might get to go through the same.

 

Greg planted his strong hands firmly beneath his arse, and it was becoming harder and harder to not make a sound as a finger traced up the cleft of his arse.

 

“How long could you go on for?”

 

As the question was breathed into his ear two different sets of lips clasped around it; one tongue teased the inner ear as the other teased the outer. He was shoved down and he simply took it, flat against Mycroft’s chest as Greg roughly ran a finger down his arse again. Without word Greg reached for a bottle of lube that lay by Mycroft in the bed. Hand steady, he opened the bottle and Sherlock nearly winced when he felt a lubed finger pressed against the crack of his arse.

 

Greg suckled at his neck and goosebumps scattered across his arms and legs. He felt tiny compared to the two men he was sandwiched between, but nevertheless they made him feel…important. Part of the puzzle piece. Of course, he was the only sober person in this equation. He knew he shouldn’t put much thought into it.

 

The first finger pressed in, and Sherlock gasped. Mycroft kissed him, as though desperately seeking to comfort him.

 

“Mmmm,” Greg murmured against his back, “breathe.”

 

Nodding, he let out a second breath as the finger pulled out slightly and then pushed back in.

 

  _“Oh.”_

 

He shuddered and winced, wishing he hadn’t cry out. The finger played the same push-and-pull dance as Mycroft snogged him, and he was beginning to shake.

 

“Oh god,” he whispered.

It was two fingers now and more lube. Mycroft kissed him as the fingers worked themselves in and out of his arse. Excitement trickled down his spine and as the fingers pushed back in he lost it. His body froze up and his face fell forward into Mycroft’s shoulders.

 

When he dared to open his eyes again he was startled to see how aroused Mycroft was. His head was still thrown back with his veins nearly popping out of his neck. He felt like he should be doing something useful so he swept down to suckle gently at Mycroft’s neck. His brother moaned and Sherlock grinned against his skin. He sucked at the skin hard enough to leave a bruise, and Mycroft squirmed beneath him. As he moved Sherlock’s hard cock brushed against his thigh and he whimpered at the friction. He couldn’t help but to rut and as another finger pushed in he cried out.

 

“Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered in response.

 

“God Mycroft,” he muttered, though it was Greg’s fingers twisting inside him.

 

Then they hit just _there_ , and his mouth fell open in a silent cry. Mycroft’s lips caught his in another kiss, and Greg’s free hand slipped from Sherlock’s back, to his shoulders, to his chest, to Mycroft’s chest beneath him.

 

“Turn around, love,” Greg murmured.

 

Sherlock shuddered and made to roll around, but he was surprised when the hands pushed Mycroft instead. He was on top of him now, perfectly aligned to strike and god he was still open from before. His hands dragged up and down Mycroft’s back; his whole body shivered with adrenaline, with anticipation, with fear.

 

If he hadn’t reached the point of no return before, this was definitely it.

 

A bottle of lube appeared next to him and Sherlock grabbed it. Greg took hold of one of his fingers before he could do anything and licked it. The sensation was so bizarre, so incredible, that Sherlock shuddered and closed his eyes to regain composer. It took great will to open that bottle without dropping it, and he was left struggling to breathe as he dipped down with his wet hand. 

 

Mycroft grunted as his finger went in, and Sherlock immediately withdrew it on instinct.

 

“No, you’re doing well,” Greg said.         

 

He kissed his back, and Sherlock shuddered. His fingers trembled ever-so-slightly as they pushed in again. Mycroft only tensed this time, and he had a feeling he was holding it together for his behalf.

 

Sherlock pulled his finger out ever so slightly only to push in with two. Mycroft moaned and squirmed again, slowly falling apart.

 

Suddenly something tight and big pushed into his arse, and Sherlock gasped.

 

“Oh god!” He moaned.

 

Greg gave him a few teasing thrusts before settled in, deep and easy. The push sent his fingers thrusting further into Mycroft, and he pushed back, fucking himself on them.

The room was deathly quiet for a few moments as they adjusted and bathed in their own arousal. Mycroft suddenly pushed back again, and soon the feeling of his fingers him weren’t enough. He pulled out without warning and Mycroft moaned at the emptiness.

 

He grabbed for one of the condoms from a pack buried in the sheets. His hands shook as he put it on; he breathed heavily. Trying to keep calm wasn’t working, and it wasn’t helped by the fact that Greg was moving again. His hands were tight against his hips, and Sherlock grabbed one of them, asking him to slow down.

 

Greg stopped as he lined up against Mycroft and closed his eyes. Breathing slowly, carefully, he opened his eyes and pushed in.

 

“Oh!” Mycroft gasped.

 

Sherlock let out a gasp as well as he mimicked Greg’s thrusting. With every push of the stranger’s cock into his arse he was thrown forward so that he pinned Mycroft down against the bed. It felt like he was bouncing between them, subjected to the sharp thrust of Greg’s arse pounding his and his own falling forward against Mycroft’s.

 

 _“Yes,”_ Greg moaned behind him. “God you’re tight. _God_.”

 

He tried to relax, but just as he did Greg pushed in deeper and he tensed up again. His cock brushed just there, and Sherlock let out a soft cry.

 

“Yes,” Greg murmured again.

 

Greg rocked forward, pushing him forward again into Mycroft. They all cried out at the constant push-pull of the position, and Sherlock was about to admit the pain was too much when suddenly Greg sped up his thrusting and it felt good.

 

 _“Yeah,”_  Greg whispered behind him, “you like that?”

 

Sherlock nodded, and Greg pounded into him. His arse shook, his hands were sweaty as they grasped Mycroft’s hips, and he winced violently as Greg’s fingertips dug into his sides.

 

“Oh fuck!” Greg suddenly cried. “Fuck!”

 

Excitement rushed through him as he realized Greg was close, and at last his body let him relax enough to give in.

 

“Shi-shit,” Sherlock trembled. “Oh…oh god.”

 

He nearly collapsed as he came. Greg stilled behind him and moaned, loud enough to mask Sherlock’s cries and Mycroft’s frantic breaths. Sherlock shuddered as Greg suddenly pulled out, leaving him empty. On instinct, he almost pulled out as well, but Mycroft cried:

 

“Don’t stop!” He panted and gasped again. “Don’t stop… _god_!”

 

Mycroft grabbed his cock and began pumping, and just the sight of his cock sliding in and out of his fist nearly made him hard again.

“Oh fuck,” Mycroft finally sighed.

 

He collapsed on the bed and Sherlock fell with him. For a moment they all simply breathed, trying to wrap their minds around what happened. Mycroft rolled over, pulling Sherlock with him so that he could sink into his sweaty arms. A sharp kiss was planted against his cheek as they settled into the bed. After a few final, shaky, breaths, the world came back into focus and he finally felt like himself again.

 

Greg leaned over them, gazing at them as they stared each other in the eyes.

 

“It’s bloody hot in your flat,” Sherlock said, smiling a bit.

 

Mycroft let out a dry laugh. Reaching up, he ran a hand through Sherlock’s locks.

 

“I didn’t think I would do that with you again,” Mycroft admitted.

 

Shaking his head, Sherlock agreed. Greg’s hand was cold now as it fell on his shoulder, and the stranger leaned forward to suckle on his neck.

 

A mobile rang in the distance, and Greg cursed.

 

“Fuck,” he whispered, “work.”

 

“Work?” Sherlock shot. “In the middle of the night?”

 

“Yeah, and I’m pissed. Fuck!”

 

He leapt out of bed and grabbed for a pair of trousers on the floor. Greg gazed at them both as he got dressed, and he looked like he truly meant it when he said:

 

“That was brilliant.”

 

And he fled.

 

Leaving them alone, faced with the reality of what just happened. The fantasy of the sex seemed to leave with the mysterious stranger, and when Sherlock turned back to his adopted brother his eyes were wide with terror.

 

“Oh shit,” he whispered.

 

He curled into a ball against the headboard and buried his head into his hands.

 

“Sherlock, it’s okay,” Mycroft said, grasping the small of his bare back. “It happens, sometimes. I talked to him, at the pub. He’s a copper-“

 

Sherlock nearly stopped breathing.

 

“A copper?” He exclaimed. “We just had sex with a copper? A copper?”

 

Swallowing nervously, Mycroft glanced away to avoid his eyes as he nodded.

 

“I don’t think he’s a very good copper,” Mycroft admitted.

 

“Fuck!” Sherlock shuddered, closing his eyes tightly to stop tears from flowing.

 

_This. Is. Not. Happening._

 

“It’s really not that bad,” Mycroft said, “me and him, we’re so wasted he won’t remember. Fuck, I probably won’t remember. Are you alright?”

 

He was shaking. He wasn’t alright.

 

“Nothing, I…I’m just tired. Can I sleep with you?”

 

Mycroft stared at him, concerned, but nodded.

 

“Yeah,” Mycroft whispered, “of course.”

 

Sherlock sighed with relief as he rest against Mycroft’s arms. The last signs of arousal washed away as exhaustion took over. He still felt good, relaxed, safe. But as he glanced at the clock he knew it would only be mere hours before all of that would be over.

 

“Sherlock?” Mycroft asked softly. “Are you in some kind of trouble?”

 

He shuddered and fought the urge to confess everything. Instead he closed his eyes and thought to himself:

_You have no idea._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: sex, talking about drug use

When he first woke up Sherlock couldn’t remember where he was. He couldn’t remember why he was naked, or why he reeked of sweat and why the bed smelled of sex. His eyes popped open to find a small, dark, bedroom that held only the bed he slept in, a bedside table, and a dresser. Various photos of Mycroft’s mum stashed amongst empty packets of cigarettes and spare cash told him he was in his brother’s bed, in his brother’s flat.

The clothes thrown about the floor were his, and the state they were laid out in (pants still tucked in trousers, socks thrown to the side, shoes dumped by the door) was the first clue for what happened last night. His second clue came when he sat up in bed and dared to glance down his naked body to find fingertip-sized brushes on his hips and stains on the sheets beneath him that could only be from-

_Oh god._

Then it all came back to him.

He shivered as his feet hit the floorboards. He thought he remembered the flat being too hot last night but now it felt downright icy now, and he felt no shame in hobbling over to Mycroft’s dresser in search for something warmer than his trousers. Pulling out a pair of track pants, Sherlock stopped and picked up the photograph of Mycroft’s mum. She looked just like him- the same red hair and dark eyes, the same pale skin tone.

“Put that down, please.”

He jumped at Mycroft’s voice, and he nearly dropped both the pants and the picture when he turned to find his adopted brother looming over him. Mycroft was dressed for work but hadn’t left yet, which either meant it was very early in the morning or something was wrong.

By the look in his eyes, the latter theory was correct.

Something was very wrong.

A tingling feeling in his arms and legs reminded him of the trek he had to make just to get to the flat, and the thought of running away from school made him panic. In a brief flashback he remembered holding onto his brother and admitting he had gotten kicked out of school. Mycroft hadn’t questioned it, but he was drunk. Sherlock had hoped he might forget.

Clearly, he hadn’t.

“I said put it away!” Mycroft exclaimed, grabbing the picture and shoving it back on the dresser. He yelped as fingers wrapped around his arm and tossed him back onto the bed. “Did you really not think I would find out? The school phoned me, Sherlock! First thing this morning. And it’s a fucking good thing they did because otherwise I would have found out on the news. Or from the bloody police! Cocaine. Really, Sherlock? Cocaine?! You’re right, no one will hire you now. No one will want anything to do with a lonely, pathetic, kid who can’t even get through university because he was too preoccupied with what the _cool kids_ were doing at a party.”

He almost laughed at Mycroft’s phrasing but he bit his lip and grabbed the duvet, covering himself up instead. He shivered again and wished Mycroft wasn’t standing so close.

As though reading his mind, Mycroft leapt on top of him, and he let out a cry as he was pushed into the bed. He flinched violently when Mycroft’s hand reached for his face, thinking he might get punched, but his breathing evened out into slow pants as he watched a finger gently brush down his face instead.

Their eyes were only inches apart, allowing him to see how hurt Mycroft was. How disappointed.

And then, then he felt ashamed.

“Your name hasn’t been leaked to the press yet,” Mycroft admitted quietly. “Did you know the boy who died?” Sherlock shook his head. He wanted to move, but he was too afraid. “What did you do when you heard someone had gone unconscious from overdose?”

Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to push away the very memories his brother was trying to get him to recall. He remembered chaos, screaming, and people running about. There were a few dozen of them at the party, which was in a flat not quite big enough to hold them all. People had been spilling in and out of the flat all night, but he mainly stayed glued to the wall, too entranced by the drugs running through him to socialize or move.

“It was my first time,” Sherlock whispered. “I swear I’ve never tried it before.”

“And how did it feel?”

He opened his eyes, meeting Mycroft’s directly as he trembled:

“Terrifying.”

“You’re lying!” Mycroft exclaimed, forcing him deeper into the mattress. “If it felt terrifying you wouldn’t have kept taking it. It felt good, didn’t it? That was the terrifying part. Do you have any idea how much danger you put yourself in? What if it was you whose face was flashing on the news this morning?”

“It wouldn’t have been,” Sherlock said, “I didn’t take that much, I promise.”

“How do you even know what _not that much_ is?” Mycroft demanded. “Where did you even find these people? Or did you just wander into whatever party was accepting sorry, pathetic-“

“Stop!” He was beating back tears now, and he was a bit relieved when Mycroft froze above him. “Stop, please. I’m sorry, alright? It was stupid. It was really, really, stupid. I wasn’t trying to hurt myself. I just…I don’t even know why I did it. It was stupid.”

He looked away, too embarrassed to meet the eyes studying his. He closed his eyes tightly, fighting the tears, and he felt pathetic enough because he couldn’t even confront what he did.

“Yeah, it was stupid,” Mycroft finally breathed, “and you’re not pathetic, Sherlock. That’s what I don’t understand. You don’t need this. You’ve thrown your university career away, and it’s going to take a lot of damage control to bounce back from this. I just wish you’d realize how much danger you put yourself in and how much it would have hurt me if…if…”

He wasn’t sure he had ever seen Mycroft speechless before. For a moment they both just breathed, and he realized his own arms were holding Mycroft up. They lay in an awkward embrace, with Mycroft still on top of him, and the desperate way his brother’s fingers held onto his arms told him why he was so afraid.

“I’m sorry, Mye,” he whispered.

“If something happened to you, it would hurt me, Sherlock,” Mycroft admitted. “I know our relationship is…strange, at best, but getting news like that about you…it might kill me. I want you safe, alright?”

_Yet you lured me into a threesome with a man we don’t even know._

Once again it seemed like his mind was being read as fingertips traced down to the bruises at his hips. He winced as Mycroft pressed against the blue-black skin.

“Did he hurt you?” Mycroft asked. “Was he careful enough?”

“It’s fine.”

Mycroft let out a shaky sigh of relief and settled down beside him. His hand reached up, wrapping around Sherlock’s head as his eyes wandered back to him. They gazed at each other, neither sure what to say at this point.

“Greg came around again this morning,” Mycroft said, “it was after the school rang, but he wanted me to hear the details from him. He said he would make sure no charges were pressed against you if you would come down and give as much information about the party and who was there as you can. He can’t get you back into school, but he can keep you out of jail.”

“Okay,” Sherlock whispered, out of mere fear of being arrested. “As long as they won’t know.”

He wasn’t even sure why he was worried about that. He barely even knew any of the people there.

“They won’t,” Mycroft promised.

Mycroft planted a soft kiss to his forehead, and it was enough to ignite a flame between them. He rolled over so that they were on top of each other again. Fingers locked together, they gazed at each other for a moment before kissing. His breathing turned shallow again as lips brushed against his in soothing, soft, strokes. He pulled away for a moment, licking his lips, wondering what to do.

“I’m sorry if you felt like I pushed you-“ Mycroft began.

“You didn’t.”

They stared at each other again and then kissed. His body finally relaxed as Mycroft’s hand crept around his back, pulling him further up the mattress. His head rested awkwardly against the wall the bed was pressed up against, but he ignored the pain as Mycroft dipped down and hovered just above his cock. His adopted sibling swallowed before opening his mouth and taking him in, and Sherlock gasped in shock.

Mycroft’s tongue wrapped around his shaft, taking him down in a slow, agonizing pace. He almost felt like he couldn’t breathe. His hands were awkwardly behind his head, his legs were tense, and his toes curled so that the sheets were caught in them.

“Mycroft,” he whispered, without meaning too.

A hand traveled up his stiff leg, to his thigh, almost floating against his skin. He shivered as the hand danced around to his arse, clutching his cheeks ever so softly. Suddenly Mycroft’s mouth popped off his cock and he groaned, but he was quickly silenced with a sharp kiss to his cheek, then his neck. Lips lingered just at his ear, and Mycroft whispered:

“My world would have ended if that were you on the telly.”

Sherlock could only nod.

Their lips met and he whimpered; the kiss was so strong that he couldn’t breathe, and he was almost relived when Mycroft let go and went for his nipples instead. Open-mouthed kisses were planted all over his chest and he squirmed, itching for more.

At last strong hands grabbed his legs, and he was pulled down to Mycroft’s end of the bed. He was turned over, and his hands felt like jelly as he held himself up. He tensed up at the sound of Mycroft’s trousers unzipping, but there was no shuffling of clothes to the floor.

He intended to take him, just like this, with only his cock out and dressed like he could bolt out the door at any moment.

_Maybe he intends to._

He became painfully aware of how exposed he was compared to his sibling as a finger traced down his back, all the way to the cleft of his arse.

“You wished it were me, didn’t you?” Mycroft murmured against his thigh. Sherlock shook as a trail of kisses shot up and down his upper leg. “You were hoping I was going to fuck you last night.”

Closing his eyes, he wished it weren’t true. But he would be lying if he said there hadn’t been the slightest hope that the Christmas holiday would end with them having sex again. It wasn’t even that he had particularly enjoyed it the first time. The first time had been awkward, sudden, and even a little bit painful, but he was determined to make up for it. He was confident that he could.

Yet as a finger dipped into his arse, he had doubts.

His back arched up, and Mycroft didn’t fight him as he thrust back against the intruding finger. He whimpered, and he could practically hear Mycroft smirking in response. The snap of a bottle top sent his ears perking up, and his heart raced when he realized the lube must not have been far. The room was in the mess they left it in, and when his eyes caught sight of the condom packets tucked beneath the pillows he reached for them. Mycroft tore them away from his fingers. The sound of a packet ripping open was almost painful; it was like watching a doctor prepare a needle for a shot.

He reminded himself that the key to this was in his breathing and relaxation. With a deep sigh he forced himself to relax, and as he did a lubed finger sunk in. He sucked in a sudden breath as his relaxed muscles allowed the finger to dip in deeper this time, and his head burst into white-hot panic as the finger pulled in and out ever so slightly, teasing him.

“You’re still open from last night,” Mycroft sang above him, his voice uncharacteristically dark. A second finger sank in, and Sherlock squirmed.

But as the two fingers began pulling in and out of him, his body relaxed even more. Excitement shot through him and his stomach knotted in anticipation. His body stirred with arousal and his cock was hard against the sheets. Mycroft didn’t protest when he rubbed against him.

“He felt good, didn’t he?” Mycroft said. Sherlock moaned as the fingers reached his prostate and messaged it for a moment, gently brushing against it. “God it felt good when he fucked me. And watching him take you…I could do that again, if you’re up for it.”

Sherlock grunted as the fingers pulled out just slightly and pushed in abruptly.

“With him?” He asked.

“With whomever you choose.”

The fingers suddenly pulled out, and Sherlock bit back another groan. The lube bottle snapped open again, and he felt Mycroft’s hard, slick, cock tease against his opening. A low, trembling, moan sounded behind him, and Sherlock had to fight to stay completely relaxed. He bit his lip as the cock pushed in and buried his face in his arms as the pressure built inside him. With a heavy, exhausted, breath of air Mycroft stopped before offering a few small pushes.

Sherlock placed his palms firmly against the bed, preparing himself.

Then Mycroft began pounding. The skin of his lip became raw as he bit it, determined not to cry out as his arse was forced against the bed over and over again. Hands pressed against his back, messaging him gently before jumping to his arse and cupping his cheeks. He winched as fingers roughly pushed into the bruises that already stung against his skin. Part of him wanted it to stop; it was too rough, too much, but just as soon as he panicked it began to felt _good_.

It was a kind of anxiety he would never get used to.

“Oh Sherlock,” Mycroft breathed, falling over so that he was awkwardly on top of him.

He pushed back, and he wasn’t sure if he was encouraging him or pushing him away, but the friction mixed brilliantly with the pounding against his arse. Mycroft pulled out suddenly and Sherlock let out a surprise gasp. He started to turn around, confused, but at the click of a bottle he realized Mycroft was applying more lube. His cock was slicker, harder, as it slid in this time. Hands slapped against his arse, encouraging him, but Sherlock was too caught up in sensory overload to pay attention to technique.

Last night had been a great experiment, a _can I do this?_ moment. He wanted to prove something to himself, to Mycroft, to a stranger he didn’t even know. He wanted to please and he wanted release because the past few days of his life had been nothing but stress, panic, and anxiety.

But when it was just he and Mycroft, sex was something else entirely. It felt like it should mean something but he wasn’t sure what, and the fact that Mycroft seemed to simply enjoy the physical pleasure of it all made him more than a bit uncomfortable.

Closing his eyes, he tried to separate his confused emotions from the adrenaline pounding through him and concentrated instead on the ragged breathing behind him and the steady pants coming from himself. Their bodies were slick and his cock slid against the bed as Mycroft’s relentless pounding forced him against it. He tried to reach around for it, suddenly wanting more, but a sweaty hand reached out to grab his.

He was left rubbing off against the bed as Mycroft breathed harder and harder, his panting mixing in with “Oh”s and sometimes “Oh god!”.

“Fuck,” he whispered himself, pushing himself harder and harder against the bed.

He was trembling, and even the hands that slapped his arse again didn’t seem as steady as they had been ten minutes ago.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft shuddered again, against his back.

Lips kissed at his spine and sucked at his neck. He winced, overwhelmed by the tingling in his back and the burning pleasure erupting through his veins. His arse stung but it was a good feeling, and the tension kept building and building and building until-

“Oh!” He gasped as come spurted out, soaking the sheets once again. Mycroft’s hand desperately grabbed onto his cock, pumping him and helping him through his climax. “Oh god Mycroft-“

He was cut off by a sharp sigh of relief as the rest of his release flooded through him. Mycroft whimpered behind him and pounded harder, desperate to catch up with him.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft breathed. “ _Sherlock._ Oh god! Fuck.”

Mycroft breathed in a deep breath before he stilled and Sherlock bit his lip, still fighting to hold it together. After a few final thrusts Mycroft pulled out and collapsed next to him. They gazed at each other, and Sherlock stayed silent, wondering what happened next. When Mycroft reached up to brush the curls out of his face he shivered and closed his eyes, turning away.

“What?” Mycroft asked quietly.

Eyes closed tightly, Sherlock admitted:

“I don’t know what’s going to happen to me, and I don’t know what I’m doing.”

He shuddered and Mycroft reached out to him, pulling him so they could settle against the pillows instead. His brother sat straight up and ran a hand over his face and through his hair.

“I’ve pushed you too much, haven’t I?” Mycroft said. “God, I should have stopped. I wasn’t thinking-“

.”No, it’s not that,” he lied. “What am I doing here, Mycroft? I can’t go back to uni. I don’t even want to. I’m not even sure why I came here.”

“You’re welcome to stay,” Mycroft said, brushing a finger against his face, “for as long as you’d like. I don’t know how much that means, considering this place is a shithole.”

They both laughed and quickly sank into silence.

“Before I agree to stay,” Sherlock began again, “what is this, between us?”

Mycroft’s froze and his face turned paler than usual. His hand darted away as he retreated from him emotionally.

“I don’t know,” he whispered. “I don’t have a fucking clue what this is.”

That certainly didn’t make him feel any better.

“Have you ever been in a relationship, Sherlock?”

He stayed perfectly still for a moment, too ashamed to answer. He knew where this was going- he wasn’t old enough, he wasn’t mature enough, he wasn’t experienced enough to know what this was. He’d had sex a grand total of three times in his life and two of those times were in the past twelve hours. It was still a shock to his system; it still even hurt a bit. It sent him into emotional turmoil because he just didn’t get it.

Mycroft was right, and he hadn’t even made his point yet.

He shook his head.

“Adults we…we do this sometimes because we don’t know what we want. Or we think we want it. You’re feeling that too, yeah?” Sherlock nodded. “I don’t know what we’re doing. It’s not like anything I’ve done before it’s just…a rush. It’s a rush. I don’t know what it means yet.”

“So we’re just going to keep doing it until we figure it out?”

Mycroft snorted, and he wished he hadn’t put that so bluntly.

With a sigh Mycroft rolled out of bed, zipped his pants back up, and straightened his suit.

“You should shower,” he announced. “Are you going to be alright?”

Instead of getting up Sherlock rolled back over and pulled the duvet to his shoulders.

_I don’t think so._

“Just promise me that you won’t do anything that stupid again,” Mycroft said. “Greg expects you down at the Yard later today. You’ll be alright, Sherlock.”

His footsteps shuffled away and Sherlock closed his eyes, hoping the darkness his closed eyelids provided would bring comfort.

He couldn’t be sure which stupid thing it was that Mycroft was talking about, but what he didn’t realize at that moment was exactly how in over his head he was. He didn’t realize how hard it would be to not screw up again.

Yet somehow he did know it was best to remain silent and not make any promises.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I would love to know what you think of the story. And who knows...there may be more to this series!

**Author's Note:**

> So, yup, turned this into a series. There may be more, and there will be a second chapter. So let me know what you think!! Thanks for reading!


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